


Ducks

by BlazingStarInInkyBlackness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fallen Angels, Gay Love, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 15:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20066581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazingStarInInkyBlackness/pseuds/BlazingStarInInkyBlackness
Summary: Aziraphele has been feeling... off. But he's sure it's nothing. Because angels can't get sick, after all. Demons can't get sick. But what about human aligned traitors? Those, he's not sure about





	Ducks

It started with a feather. But no, it started with an apple. An apple in the garden, a temptation hanging just out of reach and a snake whispering to a woman. Maybe it ended with a feather. Aziraphele didn’t know but as he stared down at the feather in his hands he knew something had ended. Or begun. Something had changed.

You see, angels don’t moult. Their feathers don’t need to be regenerated. They don’t need to lose parts of their god given vessels to something as inconsequential as time.

Aziraphele didn’t know about demons.

“Angel?” Crowley’s voice broke through Aziraphele’s thoughts and he stuffed the feather into his pocket. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. He’d be fine.

“Uh- yes dear?” He called back, smiling as he walked into the garden. Crowley was hunched over a collection of plants, glowering down at them.

“Have you been being _nice_ to my plants?”

“Crowley, they’re trying very hard!”

“If they’re trying so hard then why aren’t they growing?” Crowley exclaimed, watching with satisfaction as the plants trembled and attempted to grow. Aziraphele opened his mouth and then sighed.

“I don’t feel very well.” Aziraphele whispered. “I’m going to bed.”

He turned and walked away. Crowley stared after him in confusion. Angels didn’t get sick. They just… didn’t.

The two had been expecting divine retribution but they had been expecting demons to rise from the ground or angels to fall from the sky with swords in their hands. Crowley had never expected… this. Aziraphele was sick. And he was bad at hiding it.

He constantly scratched at his back but refused to wear light clothes, sticking with the ridiculous layers. Aziraphele’s hands shook and he couldn’t quite meet Crowley’s eyes.

“Angel… you could go back.” Crowley whispered one night as he held Aziraphele in their bed. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Go back? To what? I’m a fallen angel, Crowley. You don’t go back from that. I- I’m almost surprised I don’t have a lizard growing out of my head yet!” Aziraphele exclaimed before he buried his face in Crowley’s chest. “Did it hurt?”

“Falling? Well… yes. I suppose it did.” Crowley rubbed at his back and sighed, “It felt like… a thousand stars exploding in my head at once. Every joint being ripped apart and pieced back together the wrong way round. Every bone broken and filled with molten lead and ever since I’ve carried the weight of that metal with every step.”

“O- oh.” Aziraphele whispered. He swallowed thickly. “Does it still hurt?”

“It doesn’t matter, angel. It’s the past. Get some sleep.” Crowley murmured as he held Aziraphele just a bit closer.

“There has to be _something_ in that stupid book of yours!” Crowley snarled at Anathema who looked entirely unimpressed at being screamed at by the original tempter, the serpent of Eden, Crowley the great demon.

“Nope.”

“What do you mean ‘nope’?” Crowley spat out, following Anathema as she wandered around her small kitchen. “You’re a witch with the most powerful book in the universe!”

“Actually I burned it.”

“You what?”

“Do you have a hearing problem today? I burned it. The book is gone. The original book only goes up to the apocalypse. Agnes’s last prophecy for you two was the trick you played on heaven and hell. Why are you so worried?”

Crowley collapsed into a chair and groaned, massaging his temples.

“Because… because Aziraphele is sick. And I don’t know how to fix him.” Something in his tone, maybe the desperation, maybe the longing, maybe the self-deprecation, got to Anathema. She sighed and sat down.

“Have you tried chicken soup?”

Mortal cooking was not easy. Crowley had tried it a couple of times for Warlock but eventually he’d just created whatever he needed. It was much simpler and didn’t leave such a big mess. Looking around the kitchen at the chicken feathers he did wonder if maybe he should have killed the chicken before he brought it inside.

But, no matter. He had the soup. Anathema had promised that it would heal Aziraphele and so Crowley carried it up to their room. Aziraphele lay on the bed, shaking weakly and coughing. He looked like death warmed up. Crowley paused for a moment before he stepped in fully.

“Hey, angel. I got your cure. Anathema promised it would work.”

“Not hungry.” Aziraphele rasped out. He shivered and turned away. Crowley sighed and sat down beside him.

“A few spoonfuls? For me?”

“No.”

“Az-”

“Go away!” Aziraphele shouted. Crowley sighed and stood up, leaving the soup on the side.

Aziraphele stood in front of the mirror and took in a breath. He shrugged off his jacket and then stared at the wings that unfolded. He shuddered at the sight. Every feather was mangled and ripped. The once pure white was black and brown, as if someone had dragged him through the mud and filth. He touched the edges of his wings and winced as he felt a twinge of pain. It was as if they were burned.

“You’ve got yourself not a fine mess.” Aziraphele mumbled. He turned to flex his wings, avoiding the pain, and saw how blood was leaking down the sides of his wings. He bones were cracked and showing through in several places.

“What have you done, angel?” Crowley asked in a hushed whisper from the doorway. Aziraphele tensed before he sighed.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Call you what?” Crowley stepped into the room and touched the destroyed wings.

“Angel. Look at me. I’m no angel. I’m… a demon.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphele before he snapped out his own wings and stared at the difference.

“We’re still angels. Just… different sides of the same coin. Is this why you’ve been ill? Because you… you believe you should be.”

“I failed my Godly position. I made the ineffable-”

“Fuck the ineffable plan!” Crowley snapped. “And fuck Heaven! You’re my angel.”

“Crowley?” Aziraphele whispered. “What do you mean?”

“You’re my angel.” Crowley whispered. He took in a breath and focused, trying to pass through the love he felt. He touched Aziraphele wings gently. “If you fell, I rose. And I have healing powers. So… whatever I touch I can heal.”

“I’m not sure-”

“Well I am. Let me be sure for both of us.”

Aziraphele stared at Crowley for a moment before he nodded. Crowley smiled and began to preen Aziraphele’s wings. He carefully rearranged every feather, plucking out the ones which were beyond destroyed. He then straightened the rest and ran a gentle finger over the broken bones, watching as they clicked back into place.

Crowley then placed a gentle kiss on the bac of Aziraphele’s neck and the feather’s shivered before the black and brown fell off, like mud sloughing off. In their place was a rainbow of iridescent colours covering each feather which shimmered under the light.

“Crowley, they’re- they’re beautiful…”

“Deserving of my angel.”

“But when you fell-”

“I didn’t fall. Not really. I just… wasn’t an angel one day. What I said about that pain… we each chose our own pain.”

“I don’t want to be in pain.” Aziraphele whispered as his wings brushed against Crowley’s. Crowley sighed.

“Part of you thinks you should be. Just like me.”

“Well… you’re my angel.” Aziraphele said softly. Crowley chuckled.

“Imagination only goes so far, angel.”

And if Crowley’s wings glowed ever so slightly, Aziraphele wasn’t going to say a word.


End file.
